She hung up and lay back on her pillow in the dark, beginning finally to relax as she listened and heard only silence. She needed to see Moran, his face with the soft beard, and feel his arms around her. Just being held made everything else go away.
She called at eleven-thirty and said, “The Holiday Inn on Le Jeune Road. Do you know where it is? This side of Flagler.”
He said, amazed, “The Holiday Inn?”
She said, “I’ve already made a reservation under Delaney. Okay? I’ll see you about one.”
It made him think of Nolen’s salesman, scoring at the Holiday Inn in Findlay, Ohio.
But he told himself it wasn’t like that and when he got there and he was holding her, moving his hands over the familiar feel of her and saying how much he missed her, barely bringing their mouths apart, he was sure it wasn’t anything like Findlay, Ohio. They made love and drank iced wine in bed, in the stillness of the room. Touching each other. Looking at each other. Gradually getting to things they needed to talk about.
He said, “Come live with me. It doesn’t matter what he thinks.”
She said, “Why didn’t I tell him before this? If I bring it up now he’s gonna blame you, because you’re on his mind. He knows we were together.”
“All right. What do you want to do?”
“Wait a while.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know how long.”
He eased off. “I’m sorry. You have to do it your way. I understand that. I’m anxious, that’s all…”
She said, “God, I don’t want to lose you… But I have to wait for the right time. A month ago I felt sorry for him. Now I’m afraid of him-I don’t know how he’ll react. But I know if he wants to make it difficult… well, we have to be very careful.” Her tone was thoughtful as her mind sorted through images of her husband. “The right time will come. I don’t know when but I’ll feel it and I’ll ask him for a divorce. I’ll tell him I’m gonna get a divorce… or if he wants to file, that’s fine, if it’s a pride thing with him. He’ll understand if I do it right, if I can keep you out of it.” She gave him a weak smile. “I don’t want to beat this to death, but more than anything I want you to understand.”
He held her in silence.
“What’re you afraid of?”
“Him. I don’t know what he’ll do.”
“Do you sleep with him?”
“I don’t know how to handle that either. Not since we got back,” Mary said. “But do I lock my door? We’ve never even had an argument; but how can we if we don’t talk? Do you see what I mean? I want to be fair.”
“Don’t be too fair.”
She pressed against him, trying to get closer. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen.”
He said, “Well, you walk out with a two-million-dollar settlement, you’ll still be one of the richest ladies in Coral Gables-including wives and girlfriends of dope dealers. You’re not gonna have to get a job as a waitress.”
“That’s been on my mind too,” Mary said. “I don’t think I should take the money. Assuming he’ll still offer it.”
“You’ve got a signed agreement, haven’t you?”
“I don’t think that would bother Andres too much.”
Moran raised her face to see her eyes, dark, questioning. “I was rich once. I thought it was more of a pain in the ass than anything else. As a matter of fact the beer at the club never tasted right.”
Mary said, “George, ten years ago I was making a hundred dollars an hour modeling.” She gave him a quick couple of fashion-model expressions, mouth and eye movements from smile to pout. “All that high-fashion New York-beautiful-people bullshit. I did lipstick, perfume, eye-makeup; I was gone before designer jeans. I quit and didn’t look at myself for two years. I thought about going to law school until I worked for a lawyer and got pension plans up to here. I don’t know what I want as far as a career goes; but the best thing is to just be rich and not worry about it.”
He said, “Are we gonna get married?”
She raised her face, her turn to search his eyes.
“I don’t know. Are we?”
“It’s okay with me.”
She pulled away from him. “What do you mean, it’s okay? You just go along? You’re not obligated, Moran. You can do whatever you want.”
He brought her back to him gently, moving his hand over her, down her arm to the curve of her breast, soothing.
“Don’t think so much. Let it happen. We’ll know what to do when the time comes.”
They met at the Holiday Inn each afternoon for the next several days, tried the Castaways on the Beach and went back to the Holiday Inn because it was familiar and they felt at home. Mary came in her tennis warmups. (Nolen Tyner asked Moran where he went every afternoon. Moran told him visiting. Then Nolen got a surveillance assignment and Moran wondered if he was the subject; but it had to do with a child-custody case in West Palm.) They booked the Holiday Inn room for another week and brought wine and fruit. They talked about playing tennis sometime. They didn’t talk about Andres or when or what if. They were together and it was enough. Mary said maybe being rich wasn’t that important. Moran said not as long as you can afford motel rooms. But it was a shame to pay when he had an entire motel going to waste, the place empty except for one guy and he wasn’t there during the day. Mary finally said all right, she’d come to the Coconuts. Tomorrow.
She came at one o’clock in her warmups carrying her yellow bathing suit. Moran introduced her to Jerry and showed her around; it took about five minutes. Mary said she loved it. They went into Moran’s bungalow and he told her not to pay any attention to the tropical floral-print upholstery and the curved bamboo arms on the furniture, he was going to redecorate one of these days. Mary told him to forget it, his decor was back in. He showed her the bedroom next, where she could change, put on her bathing suit.
They were still in there a little after two when Jerry called. Jerry said, “There’s a gentleman and a young lady here to see you.”
Moran stood holding a towel around him.
“Who are they?”
Jerry said, “His name’s Rafi Amado. He says he’s from Santo Domingo.”
MARY WATCHED THEM from a side window: Moran standing with his thumbs hooked in the low waist of his cutoffs, the bearded innkeeper, gesturing then, yeah, this is it. How do you like it? She could almost read his lips.
The red-haired girl seemed, if not impressed, at least satisfied by what she saw. A strange-looking little thing, attractive, but all her colors wrong.
Rafi, in a shiny black business suit, was squinting, cocking his head as he inspected the Coconut Palms’ center court-doors to a dozen rooms in a plain white facade with aqua trim facing the small swimming pool-as though if he caught the right perspective the Coconuts would become the Fontainebleu, a place with real swank.
It’s your fault, Mary thought, but had to smile. Rafi was nodding, trying to look impressed. The red-haired girl would roll her lower lip, then lick it and roll it out again. Very strange. She wore a blue and yellow flowered-print dress-giant mutations that might be daisies-the dress tight in the bust but several inches too long, below her knees. Miss Sugarcane.
That’s not nice, Mary thought.
But did she have to be nice? Moran seemed to be handling the amenities, making them feel at home, inviting them now to take a lounge chair. He came toward the house as they sat down, Rafi with a stern expression saying something to the girl.
Moran came in and closed the door.
“Not a soul here, the guy shows up all the way from the Dominican Republic.”
Mary came away from the window. “Who’s the girl with him?”
“Loret. That’s all I know.” Moran went to the refrigerator. “She wants a Seven-Up.”
“Are they staying?”